Deliverance (1/1)
by angelalias
Summary: Angel seeks deliverance...only she can provide (major angst)


I"Are you still all 'Grrr'…?"/I  
  
Close your eyes. Keep them closed. Just close your eyes, dammit.  
  
If you don't you'll see her. Her eyes. Her face. Her heart. If you look at her, she'll run. Don't look. Keep your eyes closed.  
  
He repeats the words insecently in his mind, ordering his eyes shut. As if the more he spoke them, the more they'd sink in. The more he'd obey his own painful command. He can hear her though. Untouchable. Unreachable. Amongst the countless voices he's heard in his long life, hers is the only one he can hear now. So low. So dramatically intense.  
  
Yes, just keep your eyes closed.  
  
He's running now. Bare foot. He doesn't know how but he can see himself run like a mad man. Running so fast, it could kill him. He's always been prone to run. Away. Around. Right through.  
  
He doesn't know where he's going, or why. All he knows is the unsatisfied urge within his gut. This urge that shoved him out on the street for the sprint of his life. All he knows is the voice inside his head. Her voice. Pulling on him like a chained puppy, which he's beginning to realize he likes being when it comes to her. He likes the chains. Her invisible chains. They are much softer than his own. Much more tender.  
  
I"No problem. Hey, the last thing I want is to show up at the office and find that I'm working for a homicidal monster."/I  
  
And he runs, farther and farther away from her voice. Or is he running towards it? He can't remember. He's just running. On this road.  
  
It's not a road, it's a journey.  
  
No, not a journey, it's a path.  
  
A path at the end of which he can sense her blurry figure. A path that trembles beneath him. A living thing underneath his masculine weight. It's a path that lives and breathes on its own. He can feel the ground's heart beating to the rapid rhythm of his feet as he runs. It's a long road. He walked through it for the most part, and now he's in such a hurry. Why? He knows why. He wants to open his eyes and see her. He needs to reach her. He needs to ask her for deliverance. It's like there's a hole in his chest that needs filling. And he can feel it, it's so close. Almost within his grasp. So he runs. Sprints. Exhausts himself with each step.  
  
I"You're handsome, and brave, and heroic…… emotionally stunted, erratic, prone to turning evil and, lets face it, a eunuch."/I  
  
He's burning. It's too hot to handle…He's melting from inside out like forgotten ice cream in the sun.  
  
He drops his shirt somewhere along the way, ripping it off of his strongly- built torso. The material was stinging him like unforgiving spikes. Piercing his skin and muscles without mercy. He's warm. He's hot. Covered in sweat. He cannot bear the piece of clothing anymore. So he ran and dropped the shirt in the middle of nowhere, exposing his perfectly shaped chest to the naked eye. A chest that has been touched more times than he can remember. It's coming back to him now. The women. He's had way too many, he thinks. So many hands have roamed on his skin, providing both pleasure and pain. So many hands, yet hers are the only ones he can feel now. He can still feel it.  
  
Her hands.  
  
His chest is heaving at the thought of how sensually and enticingly she had ran her hands on that chest of his. Her lips tasting every inch of his hero torso built around his lifeless figure. The passionate touches she provided his bloodless frame. Her sweat coming in contact with his cool rib cage as she explored the ups and downs of his wet stomach with her fingers. Teeth. Tongue. Hands slowly traveling up his body, lingering in a feverish manner. Her hands. Hers. He forces himself to reject the image of her body underneath his, her breath on his neck. Her skin embracing that chest with such perfection, as if she had been sculptured to fit in his masculine curves. The shirt falls helplessly to the ground, and he runs.  
  
I"Sure it's in you.  We all have *something*.  But it's not the only thing that's in you.  You're not him, Angel.  Not anymore.  The name I got in my vision, the message didn't come for Angelus, it came for you.  Angel.  And you have to trust that whoever that  The Powers That Be be, - are, - is.. anyway, - they know the difference."/I  
  
  
  
He's running faster now, barefoot and half-naked, haunted by her voice. Her breathing. Her scent. He's forgotten when it was he began running. He's forgotten everything, except bits and pieces of a life he doesn't own. Bits and pieces of a life he doesn't control.  
  
The sky has raged its colors, dropping down on earth his gallons of heavenly tears. The raindrops dance around him, as if nagging him. Teasing him. Laughing at him. He twists in pain, never stopping in his race, as the rain claws into his bare back like a demon he has not defeated. One he cannot control. Like nails. Like Holy water. It's falling on him and piercing his skin like the cries of all the women and children he's ever touched. Those he's killed. He's never been able to sustain those cries in his head.  
  
The heavens are pouring them down on him now.  
  
Those tears run down his bare back now, like blood. Like all the blood he's ever drunk. And it hurts. It stings. It cuts his flesh open almost, and he keeps on running. Her voice will make it stop. Her hands will soothe the pain. He needs to reach her. It will stop. She will stop it. She promised him deliverance.  
  
So he runs.  
  
I"Here. I don't even know what you are anymore."/I  
  
Even with his eyes closed, he can see her. She's bent down on the floor in a little ball. Almost curled up. But she's so far away in the distance he can barely make out her features. Through the rain and through his tears, she's just a little dark dot at the end of a very long tunnel.  
  
She used to be the sun on his back. The sun he'd never touch or see. The sun he couldn't reach, but knew existed. Whenever he ran, she was a light standing behind him. He always had the rain on his face, but the sun on his back…but no more. She's kneeling there on the cold ground. Soaking wet from the rain.  
  
I"Yeah. You put something real in this hellhole and it die like that."/I  
  
She's not in the sun anymore. She's not watching his back, waiting.  
  
She's in the rain now. She's far and away. She's in the dark.  
  
  
  
I"*We* don't need you. - You walked away.  Do us a favor and just stay away."/I  
  
He shakes his head savagely, crushing his eyes closed. Make it go away, he keeps telling himself. Make the pain in her voice go away. Bring back the tender image of her face. Smiling. Living. Breathing beauty wherever she went. He wants to open his mouth and say her name but he can't.  
  
His lungs are tied in a knot and for the first time in his life he needs the air. He needs it desperately and can't find it. He can't breathe. He's suffocating inside. Chocking himself trying to whisper that beautiful name of hers. So many names he's spoken in his time. So many were shiny, others darker. Hers, stands among the untouchables. A name has never rolled off his tongue so beautifully. So perfectly. With such passion. Such hunger. Such desire. "C" has become the only letter in his alphabet.  
  
1 I"Angel…"/I  
  
This hole in his chest again. He can feel it. If she says it again, it will bring him to his knees. Only she can say his name and make him feel like this. The breathlessness with which she whispers it, as if she has to reach deep within to bring out each syllable. It's barely audible sometimes. It's full of life, yet so quiet. It's intense. Too intense at times, but he'd never trade it for any other voice.  
  
2 I"Angel…"/I  
  
It's gone now. It's still breathless, but it's tear-aged. It's low. It's the result of the undespicable unfairness of this world, for she has seen too much. She has had to do too much. His name escapes her lips with such torment and sadness. Each syllable drops from her mouth like blood she cannot swallow. It pains him like a knife through his chest. His name. Spoken with despair. Spoken with fear. As if her throat has been slit and the name alone cannot escape the grip around her heart.  
  
I"Men-folk not always around to protect the women-folk, you know? - Besides, what if it turned out *you* were the guy I had to fight? Could happen."/I  
  
He's still running.  
  
He looks down at his hands. Moist. Stinky. A gasp escapes his vampyric throat. Fresh, red blood is rolling down in his palms. The color of temptation. The color of pure hunger.  
  
He feels the desire to rip out his inards in that instant. The blood sickens him. Her blood, and it's all over his bare arms. It's covering him like a nauseating blanket. He can see his palm slamming across her face, scratching her skin, sending her to the ground. He wants to vomit. The image of his attempt at strangling her, the terror in her trembling. The blood he forced out of her with his nails, his teeth. Blood from her cheek, her stomach as she screamed in pain. He feels sick.  
  
That hole in his chest again. It's killing him now. He wants it filled.  
  
He's running towards her as she crawls on the ground. And suddenly, he wants to stop. He wants to turn around and leave. He knows if he reaches her he'll open his eyes once and for all. He can't. That sickening feeling in his stomach wants to stop running but he can't. He's been running for too long.  
  
His destination still lies ahead. His destination is her.  
  
He grabs his chest in pain. The more he approaches her shadow, the more he feels the pain of that hole. That place where his heart should be. That place in his veins where blood should run. He knows she will fill it, and he knows he can't stop. He has to run. He has to let her fill that hole. She promised. She didn't know what was implied in that promise of hers, but he knows.  
  
Deliverance.  
  
I"You don't think I wasn't ready for this, do you?  That I hadn't prepared for it?  Why do you think I have a stake stashed in my desk – a cross in my bag?  I think about this happening - every single day!"/I  
  
And finally he can come to a halt. His bare feet scratch the ground and he slumps to her side. Drained of energy. Breathless. Grabbing his chest with both hands. He sticks out his tongue and tastes the rain on his lips…it's salty. He can taste it. It's not rain. It's tears.  
  
Hers.  
  
After centuries of running and struggling, he can finally stop. He's not running anymore. She made him stop. Her hands grabbed his shoulders roughly. Her trembling fingers burned through his bare skin.  
  
The heavens drop her tears on his face like waterfalls in the spring.  
  
I"It's gonna be a long while - until you work your way out - but I know you well enough to know you *will*. - And I'll be with you until you do."/I  
  
This was his only way out.  
  
And suddenly, he feels soothed. He feels relaxed. He has reached the end of the tunnel. He has reached her. The road ended. He opens his eyes quickly and sees it. The frightened face on the ground. The wide eyes staring back at him as he stands there in the rain…at the end of his run…  
  
3 I"Shh, Angel, it's okay. Everything is gonna be okay."/I  
  
Emotional. Breathless, again.  
  
He hears her speak his name. Apologetically. Strained.  
  
She cries. He gasps. His eyes are wide open. He never blinks, silently thanking her for her deliverance. Thanking her for keeping her word.  
  
She has allowed him to stop running, struggling. Finally. He then looks down.  
  
The battered demon in her shaking arms, nestled in the safety of her lap, gasping at the cuts and bruises on her face, is his.  
  
His.  
  
4 Deliverance he found. Finally. And the hole in his naked chest was filled by a promise he forced her to keep. A promise that would chain her for the rest of her life, but delivered him.  
  
The face on the brink of death is his own.  
  
His own.  
  
IAngel:  "If the day ever comes that I..."  
  
Cordy:  "Oh, I'll kill you dead!"  
  
Angel: "Thanks."/I  
  
Slipping from Cordelia's trembling hand, the stake hits the ground.  
  
It was her turn to close her eyes. 


End file.
